I picked up my smooshed timetable - wrinkled because I'd sat on it - and left. He was clearly asking me to leave, and I was too scared not to, even if it meant missing the great clothes-changing. I glanced down my timetable as I walked to the cafeteria - the only building I remembered seeing - and my heart stopped. My world was over. I fell to my knees and yelled out loud.
"No!" I screamed, my voice echoing in the courtyard. A couple good-looking boys passing stared at me as if I was a freak, but I didn't care. My world was over. I had to go home. I took out my Blackberry and dialed the number that would save me.
"Cris?" I yelled, as soon as he picked up.
"Ricky, you don't have to -"
"You sick son of a bitch, get me out of here! You never told me!"
"Honey, calm. What's wrong?"
"YOU HAVE TO ACTUALLY LEARN IN THIS SCHOOL!" I screamed, my voice coming out in one long whine. I couldn't help it. I was stressing bad.
"What?"
"DID YOU EVEN LOOK AT MY TIMETABLE?!"
"No...but I thought it would be -"
"It's not just the Performing Arts, and so it suggests in the title! I would be fine with the Arts! BUT I HAVE CALCULUS!"
"Oh...honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't..."
I hung up, and threw my Blackberry away from me. I was fuming. I can't handle school - I dropped out when I was sixteen to pursue my dream. I even divorced my parents. I'm supposed to be independent, and independency does not involve school!
I collapsed on the grass, forgetting about grass stains and bugs and dirt - I was just so damn tired. Why do things like this always happen to me? I tried to calm. I got out my iPod, and untangled the headphones, and shoved them into my ears. When I was like this, music was the only thing that could calm me down. The play-list that was on was one I'd mixed myself - Teen Angst Mix. That's right; I'm an average depressingly bored teenager. This one was the one that had all the depressing love songs.
I pulled up some grass, and shredded it with my fingernails, humming an old song, one of my favorites - Happy Ending by Mika. So what if I couldn't hit the high notes? I was trying to calm myself down. It's what I did whenever I flipped out, which was usually when my parents argued. It was working already, and I could breathe again.
"And I-I-I-I-I-I feel as if I'm wasted. And I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I'm wasting -"
"Bloody hell," I heard someone say. "You're definitely not a singer, then."
I scrambled up quickly.
It was Scott Jacobs. Oh my GOD.
***
Author's Note: FYI Scott Jacobs is mentioned in my summary. Just saying.
Vomment :P
